


I want to say the words I never said

by rydia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Claude's real name, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Implied Sexual Content, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydia/pseuds/rydia
Summary: She’d bared all her secrets to him, and he’d given her hardly anything in return.He hadn’t even told her his name.How could she possibly still love him?Claude returns to Fódlan six months after the war. And while he and the army at his back are coming as saviours, he still has to face the consequences of his secrets now being known to everyone.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 19
Kudos: 263
Collections: The Golden Gifts - Claudeleth Fic/Art Exchange





	I want to say the words I never said

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [@naturesass](https://twitter.com/naturesass) for #TheGoldenGifts Claudeleth gift exchange! Thank you for the fun prompts, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thanks to [Mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddy02) for checking over this for me too. <3

Claude tries not to dwell on what his legacy might be. It’s too early in his life for that – he may have ended the war in Fódlan six months ago, but the Almyran crown is fresh on his head. His plans and dreams for both countries are only just beginning to blossom.

But he can’t help but wonder how this particular part of his life will be remembered – his dash across western Almyra, gathering as many troops as he can, and marching them into Fódlan. Not as invaders, but saviours. To save the country yes, But uppermost in his mind are thoughts about saving the woman he loves and is secretly betrothed to – she too a newly crowned monarch. 

Will the bards sing of his success, and celebrate their romance and the joining of their two countries? Will this moment mark the start of a new age of prosperity.

Or will the bards sing of his folly? Will they sing of a man who held his secrets too tightly and so was unable to hold onto anything else? 

Claude supposes it depends on how this ends, and if Byleth will forgive him for not disclosing the truth of his heritage, and the truth of his _name_ , before leaving her six months ago. 

.

It had been difficult to get updates on what was happening in Fódlan – at least it had been, before he’d taken the crown. And then, when his new position gave him access to the Almyran spy network, the last news he’d expected to get was that of Fódlan being _invaded_. The report doesn’t name the aggressors as Those Who Slither in the Dark, those shadowy people they’d thought had been defeated, but Claude can read between the lines. There’s no one else it could be.

For Claude – for King Khalid – there’d been no question about what to do. He wants to improve relations between the two countries. And he’d spent five years trying to stop Fódlan from crumbling under the pressures of war. He’s not going to let it fall now.

Most importantly, he’s not going to let Byleth fall.

Claude’s rule in Almyra may be new and still insecure, but he still has an army. Hopefully by bringing it into Fódlan and saving the country, it’ll make up for not telling Byleth he had to return to Almyra because he had to challenge his father to become _king_.

.

His first indication that it’s not going to be as easy as he might have hoped, is when he meets up with Hilda and her brother Holst, not long after he makes it through the Throat. Both of them look on with disbelief has _King Khalid of Almyra_ is announced to them, surrounded by an elite wyvern kingsguard, with Nader by his side. 

Holst recovers first, stepping forward to greet Claude and putting on a good show of not being rattled. In other circumstances, Claude _might_ have enjoyed it. He’d entertained thoughts of seeing Lorenz’s reaction to the news, but that had been before, when Byleth hadn’t been in danger. And now, as he sees Hilda’s expression shift from disbelief to hurt, he knows he has to live with the knowledge that he put that look on her face. 

It’s a look that lingers in his mind as they travel north through the former Alliance lands, and a look that tells him what to expect as he reconnects with more of his old friends.

It hurts more than he anticipated it would – and Claude _knows_ it’s to be expected. He knows he has no one but himself to blame.

When they find Lysithea, fighting with Alliance troops north of Goneril, she’s less restrained in her reaction.

“King _Khalid_.” Lysithea breathes out the name in anger, but Claude can see the hurt underneath. The _why didn’t you trust us_ floating in the space between them. 

Her hands ball into fists at her side, and from beside Claude, Nader stifles a chuckle. But he can feel his kingsguard around him tense; that subtle ripple of movement that tells him it won’t take much for this to turn nasty if they think Lysithea is a threat. It’s not that surprising – they’ve just seen Lysithea in action against Those Who Slither.

They don’t have mages like Lysithea in Almyra. 

With a murmur in Almyran, he orders his guard to be at ease, but Lysithea’s eyes still flash at him, furious. It reminds him so much of how angry she’d get with him for teasing her when they’d been students at the Officer’s Academy, that for a split second Claude feels like he’s back there. Lysithea is in her uniform, and behind them are the tall shelves of the library. But then he blinks and the image is gone, and he’s hit with a powerful wave of nostalgia for when things were, despite everything, simpler.

“You’re such an ass, Claude,” she snaps, folding her arms and glaring him down like he’s still just her annoying house leader and not a king of anything. It’s refreshing. “I’m glad you’re alive, but it’s been six months since anyone has heard from you. Does the Professor even know?” 

Under his layers of clothes, Byleth’s ring sits on a chain, close to his heart. 

Six months ago, Claude von Riegan had proclaimed his love for her, proposed, handed her a country, and then left. He hadn’t quite told her to expect someone different when he returned. But Claude had thought he’d have more time. He’d had a _plan_ , and it had not involved rushing back sooner than he was ready. It was never, ever, meant to go like this.

“No.” The answer is short, but for once Claude has no words. At least, not ones he’d like to share in front of such an audience. And he knows his friends are owed his words and his apologies, and they’ll have them, in time. 

But none are owed them more than Byleth. She’ll hear them first. 

.

While his friends in Fódlan have had something of a reprieve from battle over the past six months – at least until recently – Claude has had no such respite. Winning the Almyran crown is never done peacefully, but he’d seen off the other contenders and then finally his father, who’d conceded his crown and proclaimed Khalid the new ruler. On his face was a look of pride, mirrored by his mother standing not far away.

But that is only the beginning: winning the crown is one thing. Keeping it is another, especially when he’d spent so many years in Fódlan – another mark to go against him, along with the circumstances of his birth. 

But, from Fódlan came his greatest achievement.

Khalid had returned from Fódlan after leading an army and winning a war. The entire continent was in his debt, with a puppet queen controlled by him. 

Or so the rumours went. Rumours he didn’t like but could do little about, for now. In time they’d all learn that Byleth is controlled by no one. 

And that one day she’ll be their queen in Almyra, too.

.

So what this all means is that back in Almyra, this – this sojourn back into Fódlan, to save the newly united continent – is being viewed as another way to test the strength of their new king. If he fails here, he fails in Almyra. But Claude is fine with that, because he’s confident of winning and that this time it’ll mean a lasting peace. A solid foundation for his dreams.

And while it’s ruined his plan for reuniting with Byleth, it’s still given him an excuse to return and see her sooner than he’d expected. And hopefully, then, he could begin the other part of his dreams, where they stand together in the new world they’re building. Where there are no more secrets between them and he can take her in his arms whenever he wants. 

He’s missed her so much.

During the war, he and Byleth had been inseparable. Claude couldn’t even pinpoint the moment he fell in love with her, because there were countless such moments. He’d felt like he was continually falling in love with her all over again.

When he’d first returned to Almyra, it had felt like losing a limb just as much as being away from her had felt like losing his heart. Countless times he’d turned, expecting Byleth beside him - where she should be – until his brain finally, finally accepted that she wasn’t with him. She was on the other side of the Throat, no doubt fighting battles of her own – knowledge that prickled at Claude’s conscience because he’s the one who put her in that position and then walked away. While he knew she had good support in the rest of the Golden Deer and the likes of Holst and Judith, Claude also knew she’d miss him as much as he missed her. Or at least, in his most selfish moments, he hoped she did.

To keep him going, he remembered her words of love, and the soft press of her lips against his, her fingers grasping at his collar to hold him against her. A moment so fleeting and yet one he kept returning to again and again, leaving him yearning for more.

Claude has learned the true meaning of yearning these past six months. 

.

It’s upsetting to see the devastation caused by Those Who Slither in the Dark. Leicester had been less ravaged by the war than Faerghus or Adrestia, but it had left the people poor. Despite Claude’s efforts, many had suffered over the five years of war. Whatever recovery they had begun in the last few months has been set back by this new assault. 

The Almyrans spare their enemies no mercy, taking their cue from their king who leads from the front on his white wyvern with his glowing relic. When Nader informs him that the soldiers are impressed by his strength, Claude only looks at him blankly. He never wanted the acceptance of his people to be built on the bodies of the dead. 

Meanwhile, his fears grow for Byleth and those fighting against the bulk of Those Who Slither up in Derdriu. He wants to rush ahead even as he knows he can’t abandon these people – who he still thinks of as _his_ people. He hadn’t juggled Alliance nobles and a fragile neutrality for five years in an attempt to save lifes, only for them to die now because he’s being selfish. 

At least Fódlan is smaller than Almyra. Once they’ve crossed the Throat, it takes less than a week to reach the outskirts of Derdriu. By then, word has reached the queen and the people of the city about the Almyran army coming to save them, and Claude can see that Byleth has prepared them well. The city has been evacuated, but those left to fight are being overwhelmed, the dark menacing magic of Those Who Slither ripping through the streets of the city. 

He doesn’t see Byleth as the battle progresses, but he finds Seteth, a distinct figure on his own wyvern. His eyebrows furrow as he takes in Claude, but there’s no time for questions, only hurried updates on the situation and instructions on where Almyran help is needed most. 

Together, the Fódlan and Almyran forces win. They can only hope that this time, the peace will last.

.

Byleth is the last of his friends that he sees. Derdriu is smoking, but she still stands. The city will recover. The people have been saved. The _country_ has been saved. 

And then he finds Byleth in the aftermath, on the steps of the former Riegan palace – now her own residence. She’s wearing her usual battle garb, dirtied and soiled by battle. The Sword of the Creator is sheathed by her side. She’s surrounded by people – former students, Knights of Seiros, nobles… countless people who take an immediate notice in the arrival of the Almyran king.

 _Her hair is longer_ , is his first inane thought as he dismounts his wyvern and steps towards Byleth. All he wants to do is draw her into his arms, but something in her expression stops him, muted as it is, and he comes to a halt just within touching distance. His fingers twitch, longing to touch her.

Her eyes never stray from his face, and in that moment Claude would give anything to know the magic that Lysithea does, to take Byleth’s hand in his and warp them away to a quiet place away from everyone where they didn’t have to care about appearances and could just _talk_.

“King Khalid,” Byleth says evenly, likely knowing – just as he knows – that all eyes are watching this. A first meeting between two monarchs. He has no idea what she’s thinking. As expressive as Byleth had become the longer he knew her, she’s still very good at keeping her emotions hidden when it’s needed. As queen, he knows that would be often. “Welcome back to Derdriu.”

There are so many familiar faces around her. So many of them know him as Claude. They had trusted Claude – walked willingly into war even when he gave them the option to leave. Would they still trust Khalid? 

_Would Byleth?_

.

The hours following that meeting are excruciating, because Claude feels like he talks to every single person in Fódlan aside from Byleth. There are questions from his friends, barely concealed accusations from Alliance nobles, outright suspicion from others. 

Nothing he didn’t expect or can’t handle. He’s just not in the mood for it. There’s only one person he wants to talk to, and she’s been swallowed up with her own duties.

But the hours do pass while plans are made for Fódlan’s recovery and eventually, when the moon is high in the sky, everyone retires to their rest.

It’s been a long day. 

Claude hasn’t seen Byleth in a while, and he’s wondering just how to rectify that when a servant approaches him and murmurs that the queen is waiting to speak to him. Claude recognises him as someone who used to work in the Riegan household, but the servant keeps a poker face as he ushers Claude into the queen’s rooms, with no indication that he knows who Claude is at all.

These rooms used to be his – and every reigning Duke before him. 

As the doors shut behind him, Claude glances around, taking in what’s changed and what hasn’t. It’s all so very familiar. 

Byleth pads in from the adjoining room, obviously fresh from a bath with her hair still damp. She’s dressed casually in a loose gown and robe, and while there’s absolutely nothing inappropriate about it, Claude is still struck with the intimacy of it all. The desire to hold her flares to life again, but Byleth’s gaze remains too wary, reminding him that it’s not so simple. She might not welcome that. Knowing how much he’s kept hidden from her – feeling the weight of it more than ever now that he’s before her – she might not want anything from him anymore.

The thought feels him with dread, and he swallows down a lump in his throat. 

The silence stretches out for a moment as they both look at each other. 

Byleth is the one to break it. “I don’t know what to call you,” she admits, crossing her arms. She’s still standing on the other side of the room.

He doesn’t like that she’s so far away. “What are most comfortable with?”

He hopes that might make her feel better – to call him whatever she likes – but Byleth’s mouth turns downward in response. “Your name is Khalid.”

Hearing his birth name fall from her lips sends a selfish thrill through him, but he ignores it. “Yes.” 

“So why would I call you Claude?”

“Because that’s my name too,” he answers, completely truthful. He’s Claude now, as much as he’s Khalid. 

But Byleth still looks frustrated. “You could have told me. ” 

Shame prickles along the back of his neck, because Claude knows she’s right. He could have – he chose not to. And that choice meant he now might lose the most important thing to him. “I know.”

Byleth watches him, unfathomable, unshakable. Magnificent. Claude takes a deep breath to apologise and explain, but she tilts her head at him and asks, “Tea?”

He blinks, not having expected that, but certainly not going to turn it down. “Sure.”

She turns to make her way into the adjoining room – a dayroom that Claude knows has comfortable chairs and a tea set. And, knowing Byleth, cakes and other treats. She’d always been prepared for teatime. 

“I don’t have any Almyran Pine Needle,” Byleth states as she walks, without looking back as Claude follows. 

“I don’t mind.” He can’t think of anything less important right now. 

He remains standing while Byleth pours, wanting to offer to help, but unsure how best to approach her. In fact, he’s not quite sure what to make of her at all. This certainly isn’t the reunion he’d wanted or expected. He’d expected anger and hurt – and she appears to be both of those things, but… not unduly so. 

And despite knowing that Byleth has never been and will never be the most expressive person, there’s a tiny, terrifying thought in his mind that maybe she just doesn’t care that much. That six months apart, the pressures of ruling, and his secrets have proved too much. 

His eyes search her hands, but his ring is nowhere to be seen. Is it like the one he wears, concealed? Or discarded during the time she’s been alone?

Claude does not like having these doubts, but the last week has shown him how he’s hurt the people he cares about. When he’d first come to Fódlan, so many years ago, he’d never expected to be sharing his secrets with anyone. To gain that kind of trust seemed unfathomable back then.

And now… he can’t help but doubt his actions. He could have told them all, when the war was over. He’d begun by trusting Byleth, and then the rest of the Golden Deer had followed, a ragtag bunch that had won a war and become the kind of friends Claude had never thought he’d have. More than friends – a family. And how has he repaid their loyalty?

Claude meets Byleth’s eyes and registers that she’s sitting on the end of one of the sofas. He takes a seat on the same one – but on the opposite end. Close, but not close enough to make her uncomfortable. 

Byleth remains quiet as she passes him a saucer and teacup. It feels stifling, this silence, even though they’ve always managed to be comfortably quiet with each other before. But the weight of what needs to be said is heavy in the room.

Their fingers brush as he reaches out to accept the saucer and they both freeze.

The simple contact sends a jolt through Claude. His eyes snap to hers, seeing them widen, a slight blush crossing her cheeks.

He _aches_. He’s missed her so much. There’s so much he wants to share with her. He wants to know how she’s been these past six months. He wants her to know he hated being apart.

He wants so much that he feels he doesn’t have the right to ask.

“Claude.” Byleth breathes out his name, and if they weren’t balancing a cup of hot liquid between them he’d have let that cup fall to the ground so he could grab Byleth’s hands in his. 

But he doesn’t. Instead he takes the cup and places it carefully on the table in front of them. By the time he’s turned back, Byleth has retreated to her part of the sofa again, hands fiddling with her own cup, a rare show of nerves that he wants to ease. 

He watches her fingers for a moment, before raising his eyes to her profile.

“I’m sorry,” he says. They’re possibly the two most honest words he’s ever said in his life. 

Byleth turns to him, waiting, knowing there’s more. Her attentive expression reassures and shames him at the same time. Of course she’s willing to listen – she always is.

He meets her clear gaze. “I should have told you.”

“Yes,” she replies, placing her own saucer and cup on the table before folding her hands on her lap in a demure way he’s sure he’s never seen her do before. “There’s a lot you should have told me.” She takes a deep breath, but still the wave of anger and hurt Claude had expected and braced himself for doesn’t come. Instead, Byleth is staring at him with steel in her eyes. “ _Why_ , Claude?”

Now it’s Claude’s turn to take a deep breath, knowing what he wants to say but finding the words difficult. 

Any other words would be easy, but when he’d spent seven years hiding this part of himself, it’s still difficult to open up, even to someone he loves. 

Because he loves her more than ever, and he has no idea if she feels the same way anymore. 

“I made a promise to my mother, before I came to join the Officer’s Academy, that I wouldn’t tell anyone where I was from or who I truly was.” He hesitates. “Her name is Tiana von Riegan, and she is the daughter of the old Duke. She left Fódlan and married my father, the former king of Almyra.”

Byleth is completely still, except for her eyes, which dart across his face. But then her shoulders sag. “I figured you were someone important, but not… a _prince_.” She still sounds like she doesn’t quite believe it. “I don’t understand how we could go through what we did together and how you could ask me to marry you… and not tell me that?”

“Ah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Would you think it admirable if I said I felt like I should keep my promise, at least until I’d spoken to my mother?”

That frustrated look crosses her face again. “It’s admirable but stupid. I thought…” She trails off and finally, Claude can see the hurt plain on her face. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.” He shifts forward to take her hands in his. To his relief, she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes drop to their hands, her fingers curling around his. “And if it’s any consolation, when I told my mother, she also told me I was stupid. That the promise was to protect me while at the Officer’s Academy, and something that shouldn’t be considered when proposing.” His lips curl up in a smile, but there’s no humour in it. His mother had put words to his fears about leaving without telling Byleth everything, and he’s spent six months dwelling on it.

Byleth untangles one of her hands from his, reaching up to touch his face, fingers skimming down the side of his beard, a little unkempt due to how frantic the previous few weeks have been.

But she’s still frowning. “You could have sent a letter.” 

“It didn’t seem like the right way to do it. I wanted to tell you in person.” He closes his eyes, enjoying the brush of her calloused fingers against his skin. “And I was being watched so closely. I didn’t want to risk sending a letter to the new queen of Fódlan too soon. But,” he pauses, “in hindsight, a letter would have been better.” He opens his eyes, surprised to find her sitting closer to him. “When did you find out?” 

“I saw you, during the battle. You’re the only one that rides a white wyvern. I only had my suspicions…” Byleth’s eyes dart away. “Hilda told me. She was worried. And angry. I never told anyone about… us, but I think she knew. You need to talk to her too.”

“I know,” Claude sighs. “I need to talk to them all. I never meant to hurt anyone. I never thought anyone would care–“ He stops abruptly. He’d never thought anyone would care enough about him to _be_ hurt by him. 

Byleth’s hand continues to stroke his face as she lets him process. She smells good, the floral scent of whatever she’d washed with pleasant and calming. He wants to bury his face in her hair.

Claude turns his face fully towards her. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

Byleth nods. “You did. But you can make it better. They’re not going to reject you.” She adds the last part gently, like she knows she’s hitting the heart of his fear. And then she shifts closer again and hits him with the big one. “I love you, Claude. Khalid.” A tiny laugh escapes her. “All of you, and all your secrets and schemes. I just want you to share them with me.”

It’s one of the many things he loves about Byleth – she is straightforward and honest. Blunt sometimes, but never purposely hurtful. 

And yet, her words send him reeling. Said so simply, as honest as she always is. 

Because it _isn’t_ that simple. She’d bared all her secrets to him, and he’d given her hardly anything in return.

He hadn’t even told her his name.

Claude pulls back from her, needing space, and Byleth’s hands fall back into her lap.

Perhaps it’s because he’s been back in Almyra for six months, bringing back any number of difficult memories, but it _can’t_ be that simple.

He hadn’t been loved as Khalid, prince or not, because everyone knew he carried cowardly Fódlan blood. 

How could anyone love him as Claude, who never let anyone know anything about him?

How could Byleth sit there, patient and understanding even though he’d hurt her? 

It would be easier if she’d been angry like the others. If she’d lashed out like Lysithea, or looked at him with wounded eyes like Marianne.

His words come slowly. “In Almyra, I was considered a coward because of my Fódlan blood.” His eyes dance across the room, still so familiar to him. She’s changed little about the palace, it seems. Likely far more focused on other, more important issues. “Perhaps they were right.”

Byleth scoffs in disagreement, and he meets her gaze again. “I don’t like that you didn’t tell me. I _am_ angry about it, but I think I can understand why you didn’t. I can forgive you. It doesn’t make you a coward.”

“When I asked you to marry me, I already saw you as queen of Almyra as well as Fódlan. It was unfair to expect it from you. I’ve already asked so much.”

“Claude.” She tilts her head. “Khalid. Am I saying it right? Honestly, I wish you’d tell me what you prefer.” 

“You’re saying it perfectly.” He leans back, tilting his head up at the ceiling. “I’ve wanted to hear you call me Khalid for –“ _years_ “– a long time.”

“Oh?” There’s a note of interest in her voice.

“Yes. But I really don’t mind what you call me.” Claude closes his eyes. “I’d rather you be comfortable.” 

“You were going to tell me, weren’t you? Before we got married.” 

“Of course. I’d planned to come back, and fly my wyvern to the window of your bedroom and declare my love for you and tell you all my secrets.” He sighs, aware of how silly that fantasy sounds, but he’d held it close on nights when guilt pricked at his skin. “Those Who Slither in the Dark ruined my plan a bit.”

“Hm.” He hears the rustle of movement, and suddenly a pleasant weight is on top of him. Claude’s head snaps up as his eyes open, meeting Byleth’s sparkling green ones. Her thighs rest on either side of him, and she drapes her arms lazily on his shoulders.

“Is this alright?” she asks.

More flustered than he cares to admit, Claude only nods. In truth, it’s more than alright, and as he quickly gathers his wits, he brings his hands to rest on her waist, thumbs stroking over the soft fabric of her gown that’s riding up her legs. 

“You know,” she says as she settles back onto his legs, voice lowering to a timbre that sends a delightful shiver down Claude’s spine, “you can still do most of that.” 

Claude considers, dropping his gaze to where his fingers play with the fabric of her gown. “Do you still want to hear it?”

Byleth cups his face in her hands, tilting his head up so that their gazes meet. “Of course I do,” she whispers. “I love you.” Leaning forward, she presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Khalid,” she murmurs against him. “I love you.” Another kiss, still chaste, but Claude can feel the sincerity behind the words.

But still…

Hilda’s hurt face rises up in his mind, and he can feel himself tense. How can Byleth let this go so easily?

“Do you not believe me?” _Now_ she sounds hurt again, and shame once more climbs up his spine like a cold shiver.

“I do. I _want_ to. I meant everything I told you six months ago. I love you, with all that I am. But all that I am includes being a user and a schemer. Even while I wanted to come back to Fódlan to save you once I heard about the invasion, there was still a large part of me pleased that it would help my dreams – I couldn’t help but see the benefits.” 

Byleth raises her eyebrows. “Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because my love for you isn’t my sole motivation. If it was, I’d never have left you. I didn’t want to leave you at all. But I did, even though I didn’t know how long it would take me to come back.”

She stares at him a moment before responding. “I don’t understand why you’re saying all this like it’s news to me. I know who you are, Claude, and I love you for it. I love your schemes and the way you think. When I heard the news that the Almyran army was coming to assist us, I thought the same thing as you: Fódlan is saved, and it serves as a good base to better relations with Almyra. And I knew you had to be involved. I just didn’t expect you to be…” She trails off, voice going faint. “Isn’t that why you made me queen, Claude?” 

“Teach, I made you queen because I trust you more than anyone else,” he replies, still looking at his fingers bunching in her gown, distracted by the bare skin of her legs that’s now in display. He pulls his gaze away and back to her face. “I want to build a better world with you.” Her smile at his words is beautiful and soft and makes him sigh. “I love you, Byleth. I don’t know where I would have ended up if you hadn’t chosen the Golden Deer.”

“You’d be okay,” she says with some confidence. “You could survive anything.”

He raises his eyebrows at that. Almyrans _are_ good at surviving. 

“And I love you,” Byleth goes on, and Claude has to look away from her, feeling heat creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. She says it so easily, so earnestly, and yet there’s still a part of him that can’t let it in, that can’t believe she’s taken his subterfuge and secrets so well. That can’t believe someone like her – who helps and cares for people primarily because she wants to and not because she wants something – loves him. 

Byleth tilts her head and he looks back at her. With raised eyebrows she says blandly, “I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.” 

His lips quirk upwards in a small smile that he knows has a hint of sadness around it. “Maybe I’ll keep pretending I don’t, just to hear you keep saying it.” 

His head raises up as hers lowers. “I’ll know when you believe it,” she whispers against his lips, her hands sliding across his shoulders and down his chest. “But I’ll keep saying it anyway.” 

And she does. Byleth whispers it between kisses, and as they shed each layer of their clothes. She moans it as his lips trace down her neck and find his ring on a chain in the valley of her breasts, a mirror to his own. She presses the words into his skin with her actions – her lips over his heart, her hands tangled in his, and then with her legs pressing against him, ankles crossed behind his back, urging him closer and deeper into her. Those actions speak for her when she’s too breathless to say them any longer, one hand curled around Claude’s neck as he presses his forehead to hers, as he shows her how much he loves her too.

Byleth looks at him the way he used to look at the stars. 

The way he looks at her.

She whispers her love for him again. 

And he believes her, wonder creeping over his expression as he brushes her hair, messy and tangled from his hands and their lovemaking, away from her face so he can see her clearly. 

And afterwards, when they’re both satisfied, tangled up together in her too large bed, she says it again, this time with a smile as bright as the Almyran sun, satisfied that she’s made her point. 

And true to her word, she never stops telling him. Not that night, and not ever. 

And Claude does the same, because just like during their time together during the war, he falls in love with her over and over again, now secure in the knowledge that she feels the same.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/flowerfuls)!


End file.
